Posted in Word Prompt

Tales of A Teenage Wasteland

When I was 18 I got so drunk that my friends thought I was going to die. I went limp, crumpled onto the floor like a discarded shirt.

As you do, in some realms of fantasy when your friend may be dying, they stripped my clothes and tossed me into the shower then set to planning. 

How could they handle this? How could they keep from getting in trouble? After all, I was certainly not supposed to be drinking. 

“I know!” I’m sure one of them said. “Let’s put her on the curb and call 911.” 

Let it be known, my friends weren’t the most brilliant because it was January in a very north eastern state and the curb was a snow bank they could lose me in.

The rising water in the tub nearly choked me as my friends tried to wrangle my wet body. I tried to breathe but at first my lungs just wouldn’t expand. 

“We thought you were dead!” Their gazes passed over my cold naked body. “We were going to leave you outside.” 

“That the best idea you had?”

Drunk and nearly dead I managed to wonder if it was too late to look for new friends.

Posted in Word Prompt

Save Me

I’m 45 years old and what have I done? Everything and nothing. 

Died. More times than I care to count. They always manage to bring me back to life.

But have I done what I truly want? 

Have I reaped the benefits of a wealthy childhood? Have I earned my parents coveted pride?

I don’t need to reach into the silence to hear an overwhelming “no!”. 

And here I am, sliding away on stolen booze in a ships cargo hold. 

I plan to be good and drunk by time they find me. Maybe this time they won’t save me.

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Word Count: 99
Joining back in with Friday Fictioneers

See also round 2 of this weeks prompt here

Posted in Word Prompt


Tracing ink intoned sketches
Raising bumps, pleasure seeker give aways,
Across our tender skin.
I can’t bring myself to release these words
I’ve held so long against my heart
And crumbling soul.
I can’t make my lips form the syllables
Of every line I know I’ve ever needed to say.
I’m rendered speechless in the way your eyes
Speak for me.
Reflections of your fingers sliding beneath my clothes,
Along strings of lies,
Pure ecstasy as you strip them away,
Letting your lips trace these matching shades of grey.
You don’t have to do much
I’m rendered helpless, drunk and depressed, slinking into your arms.
Your lips trace my neck and shoulders, your fingers slip every charade I own
Straight to the ground.
But I can’t stay with you tonight,
Though your lips travel over my body and your tongue drives me wild.
I grasp at your hair and the strands of reality I have left;
Desperately trying to hold on
To the moments when our breath moves as one.
I hope you’ll forgive me,
I just can’t stop slipping.
In and out of time I fall, here with you
Then into the darkness I’m recalled.
It must have been amazing,
I know it was just right,
Those moments with you, tracing intoned pictographs
Inked to your story, now permanently part of me.

Word: Background

Posted in friday fictioneers

Dead Leg – Friday Fictioneers

Freddy lost his leg again.

The town drunk hops down the street. His backpack, wearing thin from years of service and homelessness, flops ungracefully with each wavering leap and land.

“Fred, where’s your leg?” The shopkeeper is a kind man with fluid soul in his eyes.

I imagine Freddy has soul in his eyes but through overgrown, matted hair there’s no telling.

He hops past the shopkeep, visibly shaking as he lands.

“Fred, your leg?”

Freddy freezes, we all know he’s a stubborn man. His mouth works silently, formulating words he doesn’t quite have.

“That’s Dad to you.” Freddy mumbles.

leg-up-jhcPHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

Word Count: 100

Thank you as always to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for putting together Friday Fictioneers.

Posted in Word Prompt

The Nothing

WordPress Daily Prompt – Genius

We’ll see, I don’t know if I like it enough to keep going with it outside of this …

He was a drag racer, rock star, the man of the hour at every party.
Give him about six more beers and a round of coke,
He’ll tell you all about it as he checks the windows for the sixth time.
Clutching the high like a child clinging to a blanket,
He wanders wild eyed and mind racing through the halls.
He’s a genius wildcard with the cure in that mind,
If he could just free it from the clutches of the nothing,
Gripping and grinding at the base of his brain.

As always, please go check out The Perfectly Imperfect Bunch, a collaboration that I’m part of dedicated to writing and all things creative. There are great new posts up by Pradita and Wanji

Posted in Word Prompt

Blacked Out Drunk

Blacked Out Drunk

I’ve always been afraid of the dark,

Yet here I sit in the sallow lights and echoing quiet of this paneled sun room.

Surrounded by faded childhood toys and furniture so old it creaks when you sigh,

Like the sighs from the main room of the house as they shoot up a sweet release.

I’ve never been much for the hard drugs, the heroine and coke I mean

No, I’ve taken a liking to the ones that leave you breathless in piles of your own sweat and vomit.

Drugs like alcohol and the pure adrenaline pumping through my veins as we race through the streets wondering if this will be the day

When the dark and I meet to finally settle these differences

Demon to demon, blood thirsty, craving the fall …

Today wasn’t the day.

So here I sit in the sun room staring into the darkness with a half empty case of beer and an empty bottle of Jack.

Did I drink that much already?

It’s not my fault.

It’s just that the alcohol falls down my throat,

The way the bath water did the night I was blacked out drunk

And when I came to, choking and struggling for air,

All he said was ‘if you didn’t wake up we were going to leave you on the corner for the ambulance to find.’

Nevermind that I’m naked and doused in cold water.

Nevermind that it’s January and the snow banks are taller than me.

Nevermind that it’s 2AM and dark outside and so quiet.

Tonight, I resolve, I won’t drink so much.

Except I already have and I can feel my demons closing in as the room starts to spin.

Maybe I’ll wake up drowning in the bath again,

Or perhaps this time they’ll leave me, with the booze and the drugs, on the corner for someone to find.

In the cold, naked and doused in water.

In the dark and the quiet.

Where the demons dare to seep into the recesses of idle minds.

But that’s the thing about the dark and the silence and the demons;

They’re so much easier to ignore when the alcohol is just falling down your throat,

And you’re always blacked out drunk.